


its beams will only fade over your grave or mine

by neroh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Falling In Love, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Eyre AU.</p><p>James Kirk is the tutor for Dr. McCoy of Thornfield's ward, Joanna, and finds himself entranced by his moody employer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its beams will only fade over your grave or mine

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the dialogue is borrowed from the original text or from the 2011 film adaptation.
> 
> A huge thank you to Taverl for betaing this and cheerleading this effort along with Anna. And my sincerest apologies to Charlotte Brontë.

“So,” Master McCoy drawls as he flips through the portfolio on his lap.

Joanna is curled next to his leg, looking at James admiringly, wearing the dress that her guardian brought her back from France. She looks like a little doll all gussied up for tea. “Tell me your tale of woe, Mr. Kirk.”

He blinks, surprised by McCoy’s candid remark, and straightens his posture. “My tale of woe, sir?” James asks, uncertain.

“Yes. All tutors usually have their tales of a troubled childhood, hardship, etcetera,” McCoy replies without looking up. “I would like to know yours.” He says the last bit with his hazel eyes rising up to look at James.

James scrunches his nose, sharing a brief glance with Mr. Scott who lingers behind him, near the fireplace. “I was brought up by my uncle, Mr. Franklin Kirk of Riverside, in a house even finer than this. I then attended the Lowood school where I received an education as good as I could hope for,” James says, adding a smile. “I have no tale of woe, sir.”

“What of your siblings and your parents?”

“They are dead, sir,” James replies.

McCoy frowns as he closes the portfolio of James’ drawings. “Do you remember them?”

“I do not, sir.”

McCoy leans back on the settee and brings an elegant hand to rest his chin upon. “Why are you not with Mr. Franklin of Riverside now?”

“He cast me off, sir,” James says with a shrug. “I was burdensome and he disliked me.”

To be honest, he was far better off at Lowood and its miserable conditions than within the walls of Riverside Manor with his cousins and abusive uncle.

Things had been fine when his aunt was alive. Once she passed, however, James was at the mercy of his only relatives. His cousins, especially John, were cruel children who never allowed him a moment’s reprieve.

Mr. Kirk allowed it and punished James for fighting back. The final straw had been when John bashed James’ head into a corner and the ten-year-old jumped on top of his older cousin, hurling his fists at him while the servants watched.

He had been sent to Lowood, whose headmaster Kodos was just as horrible.

At least Pavel had been there before consumption claimed him and a number of other boys. Things changed for the better, possibly Pavel’s doing from Heaven, and Kodos was removed from his post.

It was just as well and James did receive a fine education that allowed him to become little Joanna Varens’ tutor.

“No tale of woe?” McCoy says incredulously before chuckling. He waves Mr. Scott—or _Scotty_ , as the head of McCoy’s household told James upon his arrival—over to refill his glass of brandy. “You and I have very different opinions of the meaning of woe, Mr. Kirk.”

James remains still in his seat, wondering what his employer is trying to accomplish with the direct line of questioning.

Mr. McCoy is a peculiar man with a quick temper, as demonstrated earlier in the day during their first meeting. It had been purely accidental and definitely _not_ of any fault of his; Mr. McCoy’s horse had startled when they came upon James walking towards town to mail a letter, thus throwing its rider to the ground.

He suspects that the master of the house wishes to rouse his temper or just tease him so James knows his place. “My tale does not cause me great sorrow or distress, nor do I feel troubled by my upbringing,” James assures him.

He can see the color bloom on McCoy’s cheeks, the only sign of annoyance he displays as Joanna is still in the room and only just learning English.

McCoy pats her head of brown curls, earning a pleased smile from the little girl. “Joanna,” he says, “perhaps it’s time for you to go to bed.”

She raises a brow and turns to James in confusion. “It is your bedtime, Joanna,” he tells her in French. “Say goodnight to Mr. McCoy and thank him for your new dress.”

The little girl, whose mother was a mistress of Mr. McCoy’s, jumps to her feet and into McCoy’s lap to hug him. She kisses his cheek amidst a flurry of French before leaving the room with her minder, Gaila.

Mr. Scott looks on at their departure, his features wrinkled in distaste. “How very French,” he mutters under his breath.

“You are a strange creature, Mr. Kirk,” McCoy observes as Mr. Scott brings over the brandy.

James tilts his head, unsure if he should be offended by the strange comment. “Sir?”

“You are a lithe thing with a woman’s lips and eyelashes, but you are clearly a man,” McCoy says. “But it’s your eyes that intrigue me.”

James flushes, glad that the light is dim. “My eyes, sir?”

“They are quite haunting, almost too blue to be real. A shade that even the sky, the ocean, and sapphires would envy,” McCoy continues on with a strange smile on his lips. “Bewitching, really.”

The younger man fidgets in his seat; not used to the attention that his master is bestowing upon him. “I have no means to bewitch anyone, sir,” he replies honestly. McCoy only grunts in reply as James watches him bring the brandy to his lips. “It has been a long day, Mr. McCoy, and I must retire for the evening if you will permit it.”

McCoy waves a careless hand and James rises from his seat. He bids Mr. Scott a silent goodnight and continues towards to door when he hears McCoy say something.

James dutifully turns towards his employer, watching how the glow from the fireplace makes him look more fearsome. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“It’s Dr. McCoy,” the man repeats. “I was trained to be a physician before my father passed on.”

James bobs his head. “My apologies, Dr. McCoy.” He goes to his room without further incident and gets ready for bed. James snuffs out his lamp and pulls the covers over his body, relishing the weight of the quilt against him.

As he drifts off to sleep, he swears he hears the sound of a woman’s laughter but does not remember it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Thornfield Hall takes on a strange tone now that its master has returned from the continent.

McCoy is wont to shoot clay pigeons during breakfast or play the pianoforte at near midnight. The servants carry on as if nothing is unusual and it makes James question McCoy’s sanity.

The first month since his employer’s arrival passes, bringing warmer weather and a letter from his uncle’s household. His nursemaid, Bessie, has written to tell James of John’s suicide, having squandered his inheritance, and the shock of it caused Mr. Kirk to have a stroke.

He spends the afternoon pacing before the windows in the study with the letter in hand before going to McCoy who is in the parlor with Joanna. They are seated side by side at the pianoforte as McCoy instructs his ward in perfect French. Despite his gruff demeanor, the doctor is gentle with her.

“You _do_ speak French,” James comments in a mixture of awe and annoyance.

McCoy looks up, the sun catching his dark eyes. “I do,” he replies. He spies the letter in James’ hand. “I hope your parcel did not cause you great distress.”

“I have a family matter I must attend to,” James explains without fumbling over his words. “My uncle has suffered a stroke and has asked to see me before he dies. I will only be gone for three days, four at most if the weather does not permit.”

“Are you telling me or asking for my permission, Mr. Kirk?”

James feels his cheeks burning and clears his throat. “May I take a short leave of absence, sir?”

“You may,” McCoy answers as he rises from his seat. “Come - I will give you funds for your journey.”

James follows him into McCoy’s private study, an elegantly appointed room, much like the others at Thornfield.

He shuts the door behind him at McCoy’s request and turns around to see the doctor behind his desk, sifting through his papers. “Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” James says immediately.

“I find it odd that you are going to the very person who cast you out,” McCoy comments as he comes forth with several pound notes. “You are a strange creature, James.”

He colors at McCoy saying his given name and how easily it rolls off his tongue. “I shall be more aware of that, sir,” he rasps as McCoy comes closer to stare him down with penetrating hazel eyes.

“How do I know that you will return?” McCoy asks while gazing at James’ face.

James swallows down the uncomfortable lump in his throat. “There is nothing at Riverside Manor for me,” he answers hoarsely.

“Are you saying that there is something for you here at Thornfield?” McCoy inquires as he reaches out to trace his thumb against James’ lower lip. He seems to enjoy the gasp that falls from the younger man’s mouth and the deepening flush on his cheeks. “Or _someone_?”

James shakes his head ever so slightly, his heart fluttering at the sensation of McCoy’s thumb rubbing against his lip. “I do not know, sir,” he whispers.

“Perhaps your blue eyes should observe more carefully,” McCoy murmurs before he presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

James breath hitches in his chest and his eyes widen at the kiss. He’s never been shown much affection in his nineteen years, nor has he been the object of someone’s desires.

He half expects McCoy to throw him onto the fainting couch and have his wicked way with him, before sending him off to his uncle’s estate. The gentleness of how McCoy handles him and does not push fills James’ heart with an unfamiliar ache.

“Safe travels, James,” McCoy whispers into his ear, his voice rough with yearning.

 

* * *

 

He waits in the drawing room with Georgiana and Eliza, pacing the room in an effort to ignore his cousins.

They greeted James politely enough, but being back at Riverside makes his skin feel too tight.

And his departure from Thornfield…well, James refuses to dwell upon it. He believes it’s just McCoy playing games with him because he’s just a lowly orphan and the doctor is a man of social standing and position.

One of the servants, Bessie, comes to retrieve James from the company of his cousins and brings him into his uncle’s bedchamber. The once robust man is now frail and nearly paralyzed from his stroke. There is a sickly pallor that makes him resemble a ghost and he makes a pitiful wheezing sound when he breathes.

“James,” he rasps, looking over his nephew. “How tall you’ve grown. You were a wisp of a thing the last time I saw you.”

James’ sets his jaw tightly, refusing to let his temper ruin his visit. “You wished to see me,” he states.

“There is a letter on my bedside table that is addressed to you,” his uncle says. He watches as James picks up the letter, those envelope has been long discarded. “James, I have twice done you wrong…I broke the vow I made to your aunt, God rest her soul. Read the letter aloud. Please.”

James unfolds the letter, noting the date of three years past, and begins to read aloud, “Sir, will you have the goodness to send me the address of my nephew, James Kirk. I desire him to come to me in Madeira. Fortune has blessed my endeavors and I wish to adopt him and bequeath him at my death, whatever I may have to leave. Yours, Christopher Pike.”

He pauses, his head feeling light, and rereading the letter to himself several times over until its contents resonate. “This is dated three years ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His uncle coughs and there are tears in his eyes. “I wrote and told him that you died of consumption at Lowood.”

“But why?” James asks, desperation cracking in his voice. “Why would you deny me a family twice over?”

“You called the names of the dead down upon me,” his uncle whimpers. “You cursed me!”

James shakes his head as tears fall down his face. “I was but a boy,” he counters. “You may believe that I was born to your torment, but it is you who brought that upon yourself. I would have loved if you had allowed it, but you chose not to.”

“I know this,” his uncle says, coughing. “Please forgive me, James.”

He wants to with all his heart and he believes it’s what his parents and aunt would want him to do. “I cannot,” he whispers. “I am sorry.”

James leaves Riverside as soon as he’s able and sets about composing a letter to his uncle in the carriage. At first, he has no idea what to write and finds himself wasting paper and ink before finally deciding on what words to use.

“My dear uncle,” he writes. “Some years ago my uncle, Franklin Kirk, mistakenly informed you that I had died. I am writing to tell you that I’m very much alive and gratified to find I have a relative. I look forward to our correspondence and hope that one day we shall meet. I am currently living at Thornfield Hall, where I am a tutor to the ward of Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy. I eagerly await your response. Sincerely, James.”

He has the carriage stop in town so James can mail the letter before going back to Thornfield. His heart feels less burden at discovering he has a relative who wants him. A rare smile creeps over his lips as James leans back in the carriage, watching the moors through the window.

When he arrives back at Thornfield, it is near dusk and there seem to be some guests who have joined McCoy out in the gardens.

They ignore James’ presence for a bit until McCoy happens to turn his head and exclaims, “Ah, there you are!”

This rouses the attention of the others, including an exotic looking man with straight brows and ebony hair. He looks at James with a neutral expression, though his dark eyes give away the disdain for their new addition.

McCoy, however, seems pleased enough and goes to James, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Just like one of your tricks to steal in along with the twilight,” he whispers teasingly into James’ ear. “Come join us, James. How was your journey?”

“It was fine,” he replies. “Thank you for asking, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy bypasses his guests and brings James to a small alcove, where he sits them down on a bench. “Just fine?” he wonders aloud. “You must be glad to be back at Thornfield then.”

“Strangely, I am,” James says.

“Dr. McCoy,” says the young man with dark hair. He is walking towards them in an elegant fashion that is beyond James’ comprehension. “We are vexed to be without your company.”

McCoy smiles sweetly at the young man. “Come now, Spock. You’ve had my undivided attention for nearly three days,” he flirts. “Surely five more minutes will do you no harm.”

“You are mistaken, doctor,” the man, Spock, teases as his lips quirking into a grin. “I desire your undivided attention always.”

James is surprised by the man’s brazen behavior and even more so, McCoy’s reaction.

McCoy rises from the bench and says, “Always? Well then.” They start strolling back to the group, Spock throwing an expression of victory at James.

“Scotty can prepare your supper, James,” McCoy calls over his shoulder in a dismissive tone that makes James’ heart sink a little more than he’s willing to admit. “And I am sure that Joanna will be happy to know that you’ve returned.”

He watches them rejoin the other guests, dressed in their finery and displaying their etiquette. James will never be like them, regardless of whether or not his long-lost uncle claims him. He will always be a servant and looked down upon.

 _I should have never allowed you to kiss me_ , James thinks mournfully as he goes instead the house to find Mr. Scott.

 

* * *

 

A man named Alexander Marcus arrives at Thornfield, asking to speak with McCoy several days later.

James and Joanna are in the gardens where he is showing her butterflies while explaining their evolution. He has to keep the young girl back, as she is overly excitable and does not understand the butterfly’s fragility.

“Before it turns into a butterfly, what is it?” he asks as McCoy greets Mr. Marcus out of the corner of his eye.

Joanna ponders the question before saying, “ _Chenille_! A caterpillar!”

“Very good,” James tells her with a smile.

They continue their lesson, though he sneaks glances at his employer and his guest as they stroll the avenue, speaking in hushed tones. Both of them look quite serious, though McCoy seems rather uncomfortable.

Eventually, James takes Joanna back into the house to show her various texts. They walk hand in hand through the main entrance and are greeted by Mr. Scott, who is bustling around in a flurry.

“Ah good,” he says upon seeing James and his charge. “The master would like you to join him and his guests for dinner this evening, Mr. Kirk.”

James raises a brow. “Dinner?”

“Aye,” Mr. Scott replies before ordering one of the servants to fetch the good linens. “And he said to dress appropriately.”

James looks down at his clothing, which is neither rags nor finery and sighs. “All my clothing looks the same, Mr. Scott,” he says.

The Scotsman rolls his eyes. “It will suit, I suppose,” he grumbles. “Besides, I doubt the Master will have eyes for you since Lord Spock is here. He is one of the Master’s favorites.”

“Favorites?” James croaks, his stomach knotting itself.

Mr. Scott nods. “Aye,” he replies before hurrying off, shouting about polishing the silverware.

“Come, Joanna,” James says, trying to hide his sadness, and takes her by the hand as they mount the staircase.

Several hours later James finds himself in the parlor following an uncomfortable dinner in which he was seated between a pair of McCoy’s friends who did not speak to him. He sits near the pianoforte, reading a book quietly to himself as the other talk idly.

“Mr. Kirk,” McCoy says suddenly, his voice booming and startling James out of his reverie. “How are Miss Joanna’s studies progressing?”

James shuts the book and nods. “Very well, sir. She is an apt pupil and shows promise in language and writing, as well as the sciences.”

“I thought you were not fond of children, Dr. McCoy,” Spock interjects.

McCoy’s express darkens. “I never implied such a thing,” he bites.

“What induced you to take charge of her?” asks one of the doctor’s friends.

McCoy and James’ eyes meet from across the room. It’s like looking into the eye of the storm, just before lightning strikes and rain falls in droves. “She was left on my hands,” he says. “I was acquainted with her mother.”

Spock seems to dislike this new information and gets a sour look on his face. “Why don’t you send her to school?” he asks.

“She has a tutor,” McCoy answers, gesturing to James. His guests look over to him with critical eyes, none of which are friendly or offer an overture of making James feel at ease.

Spock raises a brow. “Poor child,” he drawls. “I had about a half a dozen in my day. All detestable incubi.” He looks directly at James as he says the latter part of his statement, perhaps hoping that his words make James wilt.

They do not, however, as he is used to the harsh treatment.

“Dr. McCoy,” says a man whose features are similar to Spock. James deduces that this is a relative, though they have not been formally introduced. “Beware of the tutor.”

Spock smiles serenely. “My father thinks they are generally hysterics. Or degenerates,” he informs in a charming matter, though James knows his words are laced with spite. “I thank heaven I have done with them! It’s a miracle I survived my education. I remember Mr. Archer screaming; ‘You villainous child!’.”

“Spock, you tried to set his hair on fire,” another one of the guests says, laughing. “Quite frequently, I might add!”

The room fills with laughter and Spock looks positively livid at the comment. His face is set in stone, though his cheeks take on a flush that may have looked charming on someone else.

On him…James believes him to resemble a demon or fantastical creature. “Anyway,” Spock grumbles as he rises from his seat next to McCoy. “Enough of this dreary race. We shall have music and a new subject.”

“I agree,” McCoy says. “James, you are well trained in the pianoforte. Will you do us the honor of playing?”

James wonders what McCoy is trying to accomplish as he pits Spock and himself against each other. Spock has finery that a man in McCoy’s position would deem appropriate whereas James does not.

“I must retire for the evening,” he replies. “But it seems that Mr. Spock is eager to delight your company with his musical talents, so you will not be without entertainment.” He smiles to lighten to blow of his words before quietly dismissing himself from the room. 

Once he is out of the room, James can breathe easier and he feels less like a fox in a hunt. He sighs heavily as he heads towards the staircase.

“James!” McCoy calls. He is rushing towards him, looking concerned, and reaches for his elbow before he has the chance to get away. “Why did you leave the room?”

James exhales. “As I said, I am tired, sir.”

“Why didn’t you come and speak to me before departing? I haven’t seen you for days and would have liked for you to wish me a good evening,” McCoy tells him, his thumb rubbing his skin through the material of James’ clothing. “Did you not miss me?”

James stiffens and his throat muscles work to swallow the nerves. “You seemed otherwise engaged by Mr. Spock,” he answers, quietly. “It is late and Joanna has her lesson early tomorrow, so she may join you and your party in the gardens. May I be excused, sir?”

McCoy looks saddened by this news and with great reluctance, lets go of James’ arm without so much of a good evening or well wishes for a pleasant slumber. He watches his employer head back in the parlor and shut the door, leaving James alone on the staircase and feeling wretched with himself for falling for McCoy’s game.

He walks towards his chambers with tears stinging his eyes and the ghostly pressure of the doctor’s thumb against his skin.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to a woman’s cackling echoing in the confines of his bedchamber and a commotion out in the hallway.

James blinks his eyes open just as someone knocks on the door with great urgency. “Come in,” he calls out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

It is McCoy, who looks pale, even in the light of the full moon outside. He is wearing his robe over his night clothes, appearing more disheveled than usual.  “Come with me,” he orders.

James makes haste, grabbing his robe and throwing it over his own nighttime clothing as he follows McCoy out into the hallway where their guests are gathered.

Spock is standing next to his father, scowling at James in the candlelight. There is something unsettling about his exotic features and it makes James nervous to be standing in the same room as he.

“It’s only Christine Chapel, one of the maids,” McCoy assures his guests. “She had a nightmare and gave herself quite a fright. Go back to bed.”

Spock turns to McCoy. “Are you sure you do not require any assistance?”

“I am sure,” the doctor replies, smiling at the younger man. “You are a delicate creature and need your rest. It is no matter that myself or James cannot handle.”

This seems to appease his guests, especially Spock who returns to his chambers with a smug grin on his face. Once the hallway is empty, McCoy turns to James and motions him to follow.

The doctor leads him through a series of hallways that wind like vines against stone until they come to a room where there is candlelight and Mr. Scott, holding a leather satchel. “Thank you, Scotty.”

James hears the pained moan of a man from beyond the threshold. He pokes his head inside of the room and the smell of sickness immediately fills his nostrils.

There is a man, Alexander Marcus, lying on his side with a tear in his night clothes. The linen is stained crimson by blood pooling out of two wounds—one of his neck and the other on his back.

“Come inside,” McCoy says with haste as he opens the satchel. He pulls out medical instruments and puts them on a table next to him.

He obeys and comes closer. The wound on Mr. Marcus’ back is all gore and torn flesh and James suddenly feels lightheaded. “What will you have me do, sir?” he asks quietly.

“Keep him calm and give him water if he asks for it,” McCoy replies. “But do not ask him questions about his incident.”

James nods. “Of course, sir,” he says as he kneels in front of Mr. Marcus, whose face is tight with pain. He retrieves a clean cloth and dips it in water to press upon his brow. James speaks to him softly, telling him factoids and reciting sonnets to keep the injured man’s mind off of McCoy’s work.

He suspects that the doctor is cleaning the wounds and suturing them to ward off further injury and infection. At one point, Marcus reaches out and clutches James’ hand, squeezing it as McCoy injects him with a needle.

“It will dull the pain,” the doctor tells him.

Mr. Marcus moans again and his fingernails bite into James’ skin. “I am sorry, boy,” he apologizes. “You have been so kind to me and here I am squeezing the life out of your hand.”

“It is nothing, sir,” James assures as he wipes Marcus’ brow once more. “You are in pain. Is there something else that I may recite for you to take your mind off of it?”

He sees the slight motion of Mr. Marcus’ head and starts to tell him about the works of Bram Stoker, speaking softly as McCoy stitches the wound.

At some point the injured man dozes off, his body tired from his plight, and the room is filled with a tense silence.

A knock comes from the other side of the door, revealing Mr. Scott. “The carriage is here, sir, along with Dr. M’Benga to escort Mr. Marcus to the hospital,” he tells them.

“Good. Have them bring the stretcher,” McCoy states. They are left alone once more when Mr. Scott leaves the room and McCoy turns to James. “Go to my chambers and wait for me there. I will come as soon as I am able.”

James nods and removes his hand from Mr. Marcus’ grasp. He goes to leave when McCoy touches his elbow and stills his movement. James looks questioningly at his employer, who offers him a weak and tired smile before letting go.

He exits the room just as Mr. Scott and a crew of men enter, carrying a stretcher, and proceed to load the injured Mr. Marcus onto it. James finds his way to McCoy’s bedchamber, which is not far from his own and lets himself in.

McCoy’s room is elegantly appointed, compromised of mahogany furnishings and elaborate paintings and tapestries. James admits to himself that he feels out of place and longs to be back in his own room where he has made his home.

He finds a blanket at the foot of McCoy’s unmade bed and pulls it around himself before going to the window. The moon is high in the sky and casts an eerie silver light on everything it touches. The Thornfield grounds take on an otherworldly appearance that James finds enchanting. Leaning against the glass panels, he sits on the window cushions and presses his forehead against the cool surface.

He doesn’t know how long he waits, but when McCoy returns, James is dozing. The doctor’s gentle touch rouses him from his slumber and James blinks himself awake. McCoy watches him as he uncurls himself from the perch he’s made without comment. “Will Mr. Marcus be alright?” James asks, yawning.

“Yes,” McCoy replies. “Dr. M’Benga is an excellent doctor. I suspect that Mr. Marcus will fully recover from his ordeal.”

James nods. “I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“You do not inquire about how he received his wounds,” McCoy observes as he sits next to James. “Most in your position would.”

“If you wanted me to know, you would have told me,” James says. “Since you did not, it is not my place to ask.”

McCoy leans in and uses a finger to hold up James’ chin so that their eyes meet. “You have my thanks,” he tells him as his finger strokes a scar upon the younger man’s skin.

He closes the distance between them and is nearly about to kiss James when the latter interrupts.

“I thought your attentions were directed at Spock,” he says, awestruck.

McCoy chuckles, a low rumbling sound that draws itself like honey falling from its comb. “Your thoughts were incorrect, James,” he teases.

“But you flirted with him in front of me,” James counters as McCoy presses a lingering peck against his jaw, his lips warm and wet against his skin. He groans at the sensation that goes straight to his cock that presses urgently against his pants. “You allowed him to mock me.”

McCoy nips at his skin and tongues the sensitive flesh. “He mocked you out of jealousy,” he whispers before sucking a bruise into James’ neck. His hands are unlacing the front of his night clothes and slowly easing them off of James’ shoulders. “You have my attention, even if you are in the room or not. I think of you always, my darling.”

“You are just taunting me now,” James chokes as McCoy’s warm fingers touch his chest, brushing against his nipple, which instantly hardens.

McCoy’s lips move closer to his mouth. “I assure you I am not taunting you,” he says huskily before pulling James into a devouring kiss that takes the younger man’s breath away.

The doctor presses their bodies together, groaning as James’ arm brushes against his hardened length. They rise to their feet and McCoy guides them towards his bed, exploring James’ mouth with his tongue the entire way there.

James wonders if McCoy will allow him to stumble, but finds that the doctor controls their fall onto the bed. He situates himself between James’ legs and leaves his mouth, working his way down his body.

The younger man whines at the loss of contact and the way the doctor manipulates his body as expertly as his emotions. He feels his nightshirt being pushed up his torso and McCoy’s lips chasing the skin it uncovers from low on his belly towards his shoulders.

A tongue dips into his navel, teasing it with little flicks and nips that make James writhe under the doctor. “Dr. McCoy,” he moans as a hot, greedy mouth covers one of his nipples.

“Leonard,” McCoy says as he pulls the nightshirt up and over James’ head. He cups the other man’s face and kisses him. “Call me Leonard.”

James nods and groans as McCoy—no, _Leonard_ —contiues setting his body on fire with lips and hands. His hands fist the sheets and squeeze the fine fabric while trying not to make too much noise.

Leonard sucks a bruise into his ribs as skilled fingers tweak a sensitive nipple that causes James’ hips to arch off the mattress. Strong hands are cupping his buttocks, kneading the taut muscle through his clothing.

“Leonard,” he gasps as a hand travels to the front of his breeches to start unlacing them, brushing against his erection that strains to be released. “I haven’t done this before.”

“I assure you that you will want to do it again,” Leonard chuckles while pulling on the laces. He bows his head and kisses the fine trail of golden brown hair that disappears under the offending clothing. “And again and again.”

James cries out. “You misunderstand me,” he stammers. Another lace is undone and his breeches are loosening. “I have never lain with _anyone_.”

Only then Leonard halts his actions and looks up at James, shock registering on his handsome face. For a moment, he believes that the doctor will stop and send him back to his room, aching and wanting.

“A pretty creature like yourself is a still a virgin?” Leonard questions. “With bewitching blue eyes and plush red lips is still untouched…”

“No one has ever seen me in the light that you do,” James sighs as the doctor’s palm closes around the tented fabric and squeezes gently.

Leonard nods in agreement. “Sad, but true,” he says. “But then it is a good thing. You’re mine to consume completely, both in body and spirit.”

Before James can naysay him, Leonard goes about undressing them both between heated kisses and fingers that burn invisible brands into his skin.

He bites his lips to keep the bawdy sounds he’s making muffled until Leonard coaxes his mouth open with his tongue, easing the battered skin, and murmuring sweet words of how he wants to hear James’ pleasure.

“What if someone hears us?” the tutor asks in a whisper as Leonard slips a slick finger between his cheeks.

“Let them,” Leonard tells him before taking his erection into his mouth as a finger sinks into James’ entrance.

James does not argue or try to stifle the moans that erupt from his throat as Leonard prepares him. He’s so far gone that James supposes that he would be unable to keep quiet even if he truly wanted to.

He cries out his employer’s name when one finger becomes two and they brush against a part of him that sends sparks down his spine. His groin coils with warmth and tightens as dexterous fingers continue to bring him towards the edge of sanity.

Leonard is a cruel beast and can sense James’ desperation so he crooks a finger as he applies the perfect amount of suction, causing the younger man to lose control of himself. James’ mind goes blank with pleasure as hears himself cry out, filling Leonard’s mouth with his release.

He’s never felt anything like this, even by his own hand, and wonders how his teachers at Lowood could say that this—something so wonderful —could be considered a sin.

He realizes that Leonard is chuckling as James sinks onto the mattress, spent and attempting to regain his breath.

“You taste like Heaven,” Leonard murmurs as his fingers continue to stretch James’ opening. There are three of them now, the latter probably added during his climax. “It is a shame that no one else will have the luxury of having you.”

James gasps at the flexing of thick fingers. “What was that? That thing you did to me?” he asks as Leonard kisses the jut of his hipbone.

“That my dear Jim, was your prostate,” the doctor replies while demonstrating. He is looking up at James as he groans. “You said that you received a thorough education. Did they not teach you about this?”

James shakes his head, too overcome to reply properly. He feels Leonard's lips traveling up his body, muttering the names of various bones and muscles as he goes. “Perhaps you will educate me,” he finally says just as the doctor’s tongue dances around his collarbone.

“I will do more than that,” Leonard whispers darkly as he withdraws his fingers and uses them to slick himself up with a salve on the bedside table. “I shall make you mine, my darling.”

James feels the press of an engorged cockhead at his entrance. “I am already yours even though I am spent,” he replies, tilting his head up to kiss the doctor.

“You are young,” Leonard assures as he slowly pushes into James. They both lose the ability to speak as move together on the bed.

Despite his bravado Leonard is gentle with James, handling the lad like a priceless artifact. The bed creaks under them and the room is strangely still, save for the light of the fireplace that dances across their skin.

James becomes hard again; his erection lies insistent between their bodies. His flesh has become overly sensitive, more so when Leonard becomes less gentle.

He is not a brute and does no bodily injury to him; the doctor snaps his hips harder and faster, driving himself deeper inside of James.

Tension builds between them. Brazenly, James pulls Leonard by the back of his head towards him to taste his mouth. They both groan, the sound lost in the moment.

“Take yourself in hand,” Leonard urges.

He complies and wraps his hand around his sensitive cock, pumping it in time with Leonard’s movements. A moan tumbles out of his mouth and for a split second he hesitates to continue. James looks up into Leonard’s dark eyes and sees the desire hidden within their hazel irises before moving his hand once more.

They maintain eye contact throughout the rest of their lovemaking. Even as another, sharper release floods his body James keeps his eyes on Leonard’s face; tis a difficult task to say the least.

His body thrums with life as Leonard gives into his own pleasure with a final thrust and moans James’ name.

 

* * *

 

Hours later James wakes up in Leonard’s bed, hearing as the man orders Mr. Scott to dismiss his guests in lieu of business he must attend to and to tell Joanna that she will not have her lessons today or the next.

He is still naked and sticky with sweat and dried semen. There is a dull ache that comes from his lower back and the slickness of other fluid between his buttocks, but James dismisses it. He smiles into the pillow under his head and burrows deeper into it, smelling Leonard on the fabric. The door shuts and he hears his _lover_ coming back to bed, stripping his robe along the way.

“What business do you have to attend to?” James asks as Leonard slips between the linens and duvet. He opens his eyes and smiles up at him.

“There is a minx in my bed,” Leonard explains in a light tone as he pulls James towards his chest. “And I must ensure that it does not cause havoc in my household.”

James presses his lips against the throb of Leonard’s beating heart. “How would you go about that?”

“By making love to you all day and night,” he whispers before keeping his promise.

 

* * *

 

James has never known true happiness in his nineteen years.

He’s been content, yes, but never filled with the joy that being with Leonard brings him. Everything at Thornfield seems to lighten as their relationship blossoms and even the servants comment on their master’s better moods.

“You are a young man,” Mr. Scott says one afternoon as James and he watch Leonard and Joanna play lawn tennis. “And so little acquainted with the world. I don’t mean to grieve you, James, but allow me to put you on your guard; a gentleman in Dr. McCoy’s position…let’s just say that they are not accustomed to becoming betrothed to their tutors. They can be fickle.”

James looks at the well-meaning Scotsman and frowns. “Am I such a monster that you don’t believe that he would desire a life with me?”

“Not at all, my dear boy,” Mr. Scott exclaims. “Just be mindful of your emotions. I would be loath to see you heartbroken.”

He thanks Mr. Scott for looking out for his well-being and gives him a smile that indicates all is well between them.

James does not dare divulge that Leonard has already proclaimed his love for the younger man while they lie together in the latter’s bedchambers, where James has been spending most of his nights.

At first, James thought that Leonard had not been serious when he said the declaration. The timing was suspect and promptly following James pleasuring him with his mouth.

“You did not reply when I told you that I loved you,” Leonard had whispered into his ear as they dozed. His finger is playing with a lock of James’ hair.

James had opened his eyes and looked over at his lover. “I did not think you meant it,” he replied honestly.

“I did,” Leonard said. “I did, Jim.”

James flushed at the nickname and scooted a bit closer so that Leonard could gather him up in his arms. “I love you as well,” he said with a smile on his lips.

“My darling Jim; such a wounded little thing,” Leonard cooed. “Like a tiny sparrow. I shall love and protect you always.”

The months that go on are pleasant and wonderful, though Mr. Scott’s prediction comes to pass, but not entirely by Leonard’s own indecisiveness.

Mr. Marcus returns to Thornfield with a judge in tow towards the beginning of the winter months, furious as he forces himself into the manor and screaming Leonard’s name. 

James and Leonard are having a private moment in the parlor, reading to each other next to the fire. He is trying to recite a poem while Leonard’s hand dips into his shirt, teasing a nipple when the doors burst open and Mr. Marcus sees them.

“You scoundrel!” he screams, charging towards Leonard who is on his feet and acting as a barricade. “You liar! You manipulator!”

Leonard is calm and collected as insults are flung at him. “Mr. Scott,” he says. “Have this man removed from my property at once.”

“You are _married_ to my daughter,” Mr. Marcus shouts. “And you lead this poor boy on, don’t you? Does he promise you the world, lad? That he’ll marry you?”

Leonard grabs Mr. Marcus by the front of his coat and backs him against a wall of books that tumble to the ground. “You do not speak to him,” he growls.

“Married?” James says as he rises from his seat. “You are mistaken, Mr. Marcus, but Dr. McCoy is not wedded.”

Mr. Marcus slaps Leonard’s hands off of him. “You’ve been deceived,” he tells James. He snaps his fingers and the judge steps forward with a document that he hands to the young man. “Proof of a union between one Leonard Horatio McCoy and Carol Elizabeth Marcus in London Town from some ten years hence.”

“Jim,” Leonard snaps.

James takes the marriage license and feels as if he will sink through the floor. “You’re married?” he questions, voice quivering. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a wife?”

“A wife?” Leonard rasps angrily. He grabs James by the wrist, ignoring the younger man’s yelp of pain, and starts dragging him. “Come and see my _wife_!”

James is hauled through the manor and into a guest suite that has a hidden doorway behind a tapestry that leads to a stone corridor.

Mr. Marcus, the judge, and Mr. Scott follow them, for which James is thankful for as he’s never seen Leonard so enraged.

They are greeted by a woman, who seems put off by the group’s sudden appearance and shouts at Leonard for not calling ahead.

“Shut up woman!” Leonard yells. “And unlock her chamber!”

The woman pales and rushes to unlock a heavy wooden door with metal bars across it. A woman’s laughter comes from behind it, maniac and primitive.

She ceases to make a sound when the lock clicks and James hears her scrambling on bare feet. Leonard shoves James through the door and he is greeted by the sight of a woman that is vampiric in appearance. She moves like a hunchback, her nails grown out to resemble claws, and her matted blonde hair tumbles down to her waist.

James believes that she was once beautiful, though it is clear to everyone that she is mad. She mutters to herself as she paces the room.

“This is my wife,” he hears Leonard say. “When we wedded, I had only known her for a few days and her madness had yet to descend upon her, taking the Carol I knew away from me. Her father and mine did not tell me of the illness that plagued three generations of the Marcus women and while I tried to help her, Carol was lost. And I am trapped…insanity is not grounds for divorce.”

She appears to recognize Leonard’s voice and turns her head. A ghost of a smile appears on her chapped and bleeding lips. “Leo, my lion heart boy,” she whispers. “My lovely Leo.”

James makes a sound, earning a clouded blue gaze from Carol. She tilts her head like an animal and takes a step towards him like she is about to hunt him down. “Such a pretty little bird. Would you like to play?”

James blinks and between the time his eyelids are shut to when they reopen, Carol has knocked him to the ground and her hands are going for his neck.

Mr. Marcus and Leonard pull her off of him before she can do any real physical damage, other than a few scratches on his forearms.

James scrambles to his feet and flees the room without a word as Carol’s hysterical screams puncture the air.

He rushes to his room and locks the door behind him, holding the metal key in his hand. James sinks to the floor and bows his head, his adrenaline gone and leaving him boneless.

He curses himself for being so foolish and allowing himself to believe in fairy tales. James wishes that he had listened to Mr. Scott sooner and not given himself to Leonard. He stays by the door, afraid that if he tries to move he will faint from the shock.

Shadows stretch and ebb until the day turns to night and only the fireplace keeps the room alight. James is in a trance when someone raps on the door, jolting him back to his senses.

“Jim?” It’s Leonard. He sounds weary and defeated. “James?”

James leans his head against the door and remains silent. He does not want to speak to Leonard, afraid that the man will be able to whisper sweet words that will make him forgive his transgressions.

He loathes the power that Leonard has over him and has always had from the day they met.

“I am sorry I did not tell you,” Leonard says through the door. “I wanted to. I wanted to tell you the night we first made love, but I am a coward. Forgive me, my beloved Jim. I am a worthless human being.” There is a pause in his speech. “I am surprised that there are no tears or screaming. I deserve a hail of fire for what I have done to you.”

In truth, James is too stunned to conjure any sort of emotion. He looks down at his scratched arms and the smudges of dust on his sleeves, wondering if he will go mad like the woman in the attic. The door rattles as Leonard sits against it.

“James,” he calls out. “If I lose you, I will have nothing left on this earth…only my bones.”

Tears spring to James’ eyes as soon as the words leave Leonard’s mouth and fall down his cheeks in silence. He refuses to allow anyone to hear him cry, _especially_ the one man who is the cause of his anguish.

It seems like hours have passed when James is able to rise to his feet and make sense of his situation. He decides to pack a bag with only the necessities, keeping his movements quiet as a mouse.

James throws on his coat, gloves, and a scarf before grabbing the bag off his bed and going towards the window. It is fortunate that there is a tree outside his window and one those branches are sturdy enough to hold his weight.

In the early morning light, James Kirk flees Thornfield and only leaves an opened window and a trail of bittersweet memories in his wake.

 

* * *

 

He gets lost on the third day, finding himself caught in the middle of a downpour.

As he wanders the moors, James lets out a frustrated cry. Crumbling to his knees and soaking them with mud, the young man curses everything around him. It’s his punishment for carrying on an affair with a married man and then running away without resolving it.

James buries his face in his hands and sobs into them, not caring if he smears mud onto his skin. He misplaced his bag somewhere, though his papers and money are still tucked into the pocket of his coat, a garment that does nothing to shield him from the chill coursing its way through his body. He longs for a room with a fireplace and a warm bed with Leonard’s company.

He cries out at his lover’s memory and wants to hate him so much, but he cannot. It’s impossible and their fates are intertwined. “Why would you do such a thing?” he whispers to the rain and wind. The latter is now howling and James realizes he needs to find shelter before the weather gets worse.

He stumbles to his feet and takes a few steps before his knees buckle when a horse appears out of nowhere. James hears the rider yell, much like Leonard did during their first meeting, and the beast shriek. He turns out of the way of the front hooves and slips on a wet rock that causes him to turn his ankle. James lets out a surprised shout as he falls to the cold ground and his head slams into a mud-covered stone.

He briefly registers a throbbing sensation that makes his eyes want to jump out of his skull before the world goes dark.

 

* * *

 

“Samuel, you’re—” Aurelan starts to greet as one of the servants opens the front door.

Samuel catches a glimpse of her eyes beholding the sight of her husband soaking wet from the rain and carrying a limp form in his arms.

“My goodness! Janice, fetch us some blankets and get my kit!” she shouts.

He passes her by to bring their unexpected guest up the stairs towards one of the bedrooms.

“What on earth happened? Were you injured?” Aurelan asks worriedly.

Samuel shakes his head. “No, but the same cannot be said about this young man. Will you open the door, my love?” he asks, huffing out each word.

As she does so, Samuel thanks heaven that Janice already has the fire going. The young man in his arms is pale and soaked to the bone; his appearance made worse by the bit of blood that stains his dirty blond hair. “Samuel?” he hears his wife question.

“I was riding back when Kelvin and I nearly ran him over,” Samuel explains as he gently lies the stranger on the bed. “He slipped and hit his head against one of the rocks.” He begins removing the young man’s coat, gloves, and scarf.

Aurelan joins him and removes the stranger’s boots and sodden socks as Janice enters the room. Bruising blooms around his already swollen ankle; Samuel would be quite surprised if the joint was not broken. “He turned his ankle as well,” she observes. “Did he tell you his name?”

“He’s as white as death,” exclaims Janice as she unfolds the blankets. “Shall I have someone fetch a doctor?”

Samuel shakes his head as he hands Janice the stranger’s coat. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s strip him and get him warmed up. Perhaps he will regain his senses. Search his pockets, will you Janice? He may be carrying his papers.”

“Of course, sir,” Janice says as she set about looking for the young man’s coat.

Samuel and Aurelan make quick work of his wet clothing and dump it onto the floor next to the bed. 

They are covering him with the bed linens and extra blankets when the stranger’s eyes flutter open. The irises, while unfocused and sluggish in reaction, are a brilliant blue, vaguely reminding Samuel of his dearly departed father.

“Hello,” Samuel greets. “It’s all right. You’re safe here.”

“What is your name?” Aurelan asks with a sweet smile when the stranger looks at her. “We wish to help you, sir.”

The young man groans again. His lips move, mouthing words that no one can hear. Samuel fetches a glass of water and eases the stranger to a reclined position so that he may drink. “Do you have someone we can fetch for you?” he asks as the young man drinks.

“My uncle,” he moans.

Samuel nods. “What is his name?” he inquires as he lays the stranger back down on the bed. He feels the warmth of fever on his skin, a product of his injuries and the chilly weather more likely than not. The stranger does not answer immediately and only whimpers. “Does your uncle have a name?”

“Christopher,” the stranger rasps. “Christopher Pike of Madeira.”

Samuel shakes his head, his arms trembling. “That is impossible,” he says to the stranger. “You are confused by your injuries, sir! My brother, James, died as a child at Lowood. We were told by his guardian three years past!”

“What if he’s a thief, Samuel?” Aurelan cries over the pathetic sounds coming out of the injured man’s mouth. “He must have planned this rouse to extort our family!”

“Sir,” Janice calls. When he and Aurelan turn towards her, she is holding up papers. “He speaks the truth.”

Samuel turns back to the young man as Aurelan goes to their maid to inspect the papers. He cups the stranger’s chin and tilts his face towards the lamp that sits beside the bed, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

In the better lighting, he sees a carbon copy of his father, whose portrait hangs in the study. “James?” he whispers. “James Tiberius Kirk, is it truly you?”

“How did you know my name?” the young man replies in a moment of lucidity before he faints against the pillows.

Samuel swallows down the lump of bile in his throat. “Janice, where is my uncle?” he asks.

“Dining with Dr. Boyce and Admiral Barnett at Wentworth, sir,” she replies.

“Fetch him and the good doctor immediately,” Samuel tells her as he grabs another blanket to drape over his long-lost brother’s unconscious body. “Have Hikaru do it! He’s my uncle’s fastest rider.”

Janice exits the room, shouting for Hikaru, while Aurelan follows close behind calling for someone to bring in the copper tub to be filled with hot water so that their guest could ward off the chill on his skin.

Samuel cups his brother’s face and strokes his mud-stained cheeks. “I will not have you die when I’ve only just found you, dear brother,” he whispers to the unconscious man.

 

* * *

 

The worst of James’ illness last for nearly two weeks, during most of which he is delirious with fever or sleeping as a doctor watches over his progress.

He suffers through strange dreams where James cries out for people long dead and for Leonard, who doesn’t even know where he is. It’s a small mercy that James doesn’t recall it when he wakes on the tenth afternoon. He fights against the effects of his illness to open his eyes and finds himself an unfamiliar bedroom. His body aches furiously as if he has been run over by a carriage while a heavy fog lingers inside of his head. 

“You’re awake,” a man exclaims. Soon a face belonging to a gentleman in his middling years appears above James. Streaks of grey thread themselves through his light brown hair while his eyes crinkle with fine lines. Something about this stranger’s kindly face and demeanor immediately puts James at ease.

It’s very clear that he will come to no mistreatment under this man’s care.

“Are you lucid?” the stranger inquires.

James nods shyly. “I believe so,” he croaks, surprised by the weakness of his voice.

The man smiles, relieved, while he reaches away from the bed. A bell rings before he sets it down. “You were quite ill,” he says. “For a while, we thought we would be carrying you out of this room in a coffin.”

“You rang, sir?” asks a woman before James can inquire more about his illness.

“Could you prepare a light meal for our guest and a pot of tea?” he asks politely. “And fetch Samuel. He will be most overjoyed to know that he’s awake.”

The woman says something that James cannot quite discern and closes the door to do her master’s bidding.

His host turns back to him with a friendly smile. “It seems that we were fated to meet, James,” the man says.

“How did you know my name?” Panic sweeps through him as James goes to move, only to find that his entire being erupts in pain. “Where are my belongings? My papers? Was I robbed?”

“Do not overtax yourself,” the man tells him. “You will come to no harm at Hartfield.”

His panic lessens, though not by much. James hates being disoriented and having low energy. It makes him incredibly grateful for the soft mattress he lies upon. “Who are you?” he asks.

“I am your uncle Christopher Pike,” the man replies, ruefully. “You look exactly like my sister’s husband. It’s uncanny.”

James gasps. “My uncle?” he whispers, watching the man nodding his head. “Truly? I thought you were in Madeira! That’s where I posted my letter…”

“I came back to my estate only a year ago,” Christopher explains. “Your letter was forwarded to me and arrived only a few days past, and then Samuel nearly trampled you with his horse.”

James shakes his head. “Samuel?”

“Your brother,” Christopher says.

“My uncle Kirk told me that my brother died along with my parents,” James replies, awed by the revelation. 

Christopher frowns at this bit of information. “Franklin Kirk was a liar and a scoundrel,” he states. “I do not mourn his demise.”

“Then why didn’t you take me when I was small?” James asks, his eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you keep Samuel and I together?”

Christopher sighs heavily. “I trusted your aunt to take care of you and I was unable to care for an infant,” he says sadly. “It is a decision that I have regretted every day for nineteen years. I should have been braver in my youth. I am sorry, my nephew.”

“I accept your apology if you shall accept my unexpected intrusion,” James chuckles wetly.

Christopher smiles and bends over him to kiss his still warm brow. “Of course,” he says. “It was the most welcome intrusion I could ask for.”

The door flies open and both of them look towards the figure standing in the doorway.

It is a man, several years older than James with the same shade of blond hair though his eyes are a warm shade of brown. He looks relieved as he approaches the bed with tentative steps.

“James?” he whispers. He jumps onto the bed and throws his arms around James before he’s done nodding. “My dear brother, you’ve returned to us!”

 

* * *

 

James learns that his family is larger than just his uncle and brother.

He has a sister-in-law, Aurelan, who is as kind and sharp-witted as she is beautiful. Samuel informs him that he is an uncle three times over; their brood includes two boys—ages four and six—as well as a little girl who has just started walking.

“When you have progressed in your recovery, you shall meet them,” Samuel tells him over supper. “They are a handful and Dr. Boyce said not to overtax you while you are still recovering.”

“Did you tell him how I came to be injured?” James inquires with a smile. “That my long-lost brother nearly ran me over with his horse?”

He and Samuel fall into being brothers with ease, as evident by the latter picking up a biscuit to hurling it at James. They both burst into laughter which ends with tears running down their cheeks.

He is introduced to his nephews, David and Peter, and his niece, Amelia, a week later and marvels at his brother’s children.

They are sweet by nature and every bit the handful that their parents described, James loves them immediately. They remind him of Joanna, who he misses more than he’s willing to admit.

Luckily he is occupied enough by his newly acquired family to keep his mind off of it.

Nightfall is the worst since the distractions are gone and James is free to think of Leonard. He believes he’s doing it to punish himself and tries to convince his heart that he does not love the brooding doctor.

It does not matter that James dreams of him and wakes up with his name on his tongue; Leonard is not his and never was.

By the end of the month, Dr. Boyce states that James has fully recovered from his ill health and he is out riding the estate with his uncle and brother a few hours later. They go shooting, play chess, and run after the children once their lessons with their governess are over.

It is not the happiness that he felt with Leonard, but it is enough for James and is the balm to soothe his broken heart.

 

* * *

 

Their uncle takes the family to Town for the spring season and they establish themselves in Christopher’s townhouse.

James is in awe of London and is all too happy to be shown around by his relatives. They escort the young man to museums and the theater and introduce him to their friends, who are delighted to hear that James has been restored to his family.

Three weeks into their stay, they attend a ball being held by the Darcys in celebration of warmer weather and the return of the eldest son from abroad. James stays close to his uncle while Samuel and Aurelan dance; he has never been one for large crowds and becomes quite shy in this new environment.

As he watches his brother and sister-in-law, he thinks they are a handsome couple and he is glad they found each other. A momentary flare of happy jealousy fills him before James pushes it away. 

“Mr. Kirk,” says a familiar voice through the crowd. He turns to be greeted by Spock, who is has a smug expression on his face. “Who on earth let you in here?”

James flushes and shrugs. “The doorman felt sorry for me,” he replies before sipping his wine.

“Indeed,” he grouses, giving James a once over. “It seems that you clean up well enough. Tell me, who is your new employer? Does your master pay you as handsomely as Dr. McCoy?”

James swallows at the slight and forces a smile. Before he can reply, Christopher returns to his side and pats his shoulder. “My apologies,” he says. “The Lady Darcy wanted to introduce me to a friend of hers. Why hello Spock! I didn’t realize you were acquainted with my nephew.”

“Your nephew?” Spock balks.

James nods. “Admiral Pike is my mother’s brother,” he adds. “I did not realize that you two knew each other.”

“I have done business with Spock’s father,” Christopher says. “How is it that you two met?”

“Spock was a guest of Dr. McCoy’s while I was his ward’s tutor,” James tells him. “Tell me, how is Thornfield? I know that you are a regular guest within its walls.”

Spock glares at him. “You must not have heard while you’ve been away,” he says dourly. He starts swirling the brandy in his glass ever so casually before taking a sip. “Dreadful story: some mad woman burnt Thornfield to the ground.”

“You don’t say?” Christopher asks in rapt fascination as James’ stomach sinks and starts to churn. He feels woozy, light-headed even. “Were there fatalities?”

Spock shakes his head. “Just her from what I understand,” he replies. “Apparently she jumped from the rooftop to her death while Dr. McCoy tried to talk her out of it. No one knows how she got in or who she was, but it’s a miracle everyone in the household escaped. With the doctor’s intervention, of course.”

“I am glad to hear that everyone escaped unharmed,” Christopher says. “How is the doctor fairing?”

Spock shrugs. “He’s in Town; he owns a house here,” he tells them, making sure to needle James without drawing too much attention from his uncle. “I’m surprised that you haven’t contacted him, Mr. Kirk, given your history and all.”

“If you’d excuse me,” James says suddenly, handing his glass to his uncle and winding his way through the crowd. He finds his uncle’s carriage and its driver. “The others are still enjoying the ball, but I am unwell. Please take me home.”

He climbs into the carriage and bites back a sob that bubbles up in his throat. James will not allow Spock to see him come undone in public and waits until he closes the door to his bedroom. He feels great sadness for Leonard’s loss of his wife, whose madness was no fault of theirs. It is a mercy that the people of Thornfield survived the devastation unscathed and that the scandal wasn’t too great.

He slides to the floor next to his bed and starts to weep, silently cursing Leonard’s ability to linger like a specter while James is desperately trying to move on.

There is a knock at his door, followed by the sound of it opening. “James?” calls his uncle. “May I come in?”

“I suppose,” he sniffles, wiping his cheeks on his sleeves. His uncle joins him on the floor and hands him a handkerchief to clean up his face. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly. It was unforgivably rude.”

Christopher shakes his head and smiles. “I was actually coming to see if you were alright. When Spock was speaking, you started to pale,” he says. “The news must have shocked you quite deeply.”

“Dr. McCoy is undeserving of such hardship,” James replies neutrally as he traces the embroidered edges of the handkerchief. He makes it a point not to look up out of fear what secrets will be revealed to his uncle.

Christopher moves, trying to make himself comfortable and unbuttons his waistcoat. “You are in love with him,” he states. When James looks up in surprise, his uncle raises a brow. “I saw the fear written all over your face that he too had perished in the fire, James. So tell me, did he not return your affections?”

“He did,” James whispers, his chin wobbling. “But he was married. The woman that Spock spoke of was no stranger to Thornfield, but the doctor’s mad wife. I did not know when our affair first began…had I…” He starts to cry again, his shoulders slumped in sadness. “You must think I am a horrible person.”

“No,” Christopher assures as he wraps his arms around his nephew and holds him in a comforting embrace as the younger man continues to weep. “I would never think that. You are too thoughtful of others to even be considered a bad person, James.”

James rests his head under his uncle’s chin and closes his eyes. “But he was not mine to love.”

“His wife was a lunatic and clearly not in her right mind. He may have been married to her in the legal sense, but he loved _you_ ,” Christopher says, holding him tighter. “Is that why you left your post at Thornfield?”

James nods and hears his uncle sigh.

“You should go to him, now that he is free.”

James shakes his head and backs away enough to show the despair on his face. “What if he refuses to receive me? I left at daybreak without leaving a note…” he admits.

“If he tried to rescue his mad wife, I think that this doctor will receive you to hear you out,” Christopher reasons as he takes the handkerchief from James and wipes the newly fallen tears away. “Love is not that fleeting, young man.” He pokes the tip of his nephew’s pink nose and smiles, causing James to laugh. “Do you want me to find out where Dr. McCoy is residing?”

James sighs, nodding his head. “Very much so.”

“I shall do so in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

His uncle is a resourceful man and finds Leonard’s address by midmorning.

He quietly slips James a piece of paper with the address written in his neat handwriting and gives him a knowing smile.

“Hikaru can take you at your leisure,” he murmurs low enough that Samuel and Aurelan do not overhear.

James swallows his tea down roughly and nods. “Thank you,” he says before excusing himself to go prepare himself for the day. Once he has washed up and dressed, James goes to meet Hikaru out front of his uncle’s home.

He gives the man the address and climbs into the carriage, where he twists his gloves out of nervousness. The fashionable streets of London pass them by, winding and curving until James is unable to point out exactly where he is.

The carriage stops in front of a grand house in Hyde Park that almost rivals his uncle’s and Mr. Scott is coming down the drive, looking put out at an uninvited guest until he blinks.

“Blimey,” he gasps. “James Kirk! He rushes up to the young man and hugs him. “You’re not a ghost! It is you! My god, boy, where have you been?”

James hugs him back, feeling a bit better at the warm reception from the Scotsman. “I am sorry for leaving,” he says, pulling back. “I should have left word once I was settled…”

“Look at you,” Mr. Scott replies, awestruck. “Such finery; you look like a proper gentleman. It suits you! How did you find us?”

James finds himself being led into the house. “I was at a ball with my uncle—”

“Your uncle? Not the one that died?”

“No, my mother’s brother,” he corrects. “It’s a long story, but we were lost to one another, as was my brother, but everything is fine now. I reside with my family and I am well. I saw Spock and he told me of Dr. McCoy’s misfortunes. I was relieved to hear that no one else perished.”

Mr. Scott turns very grave. “I didn’t know that she was his wife, I promise you, James!” he says, pulling James back into an embrace. “Why did you run away, sweet boy? I would have helped you…I had some money saved.” He gazes at the younger man and smiles with tears in his eyes. “You could have come to me.”

“I am sorry to have grieved you, Mr. Scott,” James replies. “Truly, if I could do it over again, I would have asked for your aid.”

Mr. Scott smiles. “Sweet boy,” he sighs.

“Where is he?” James asks.

Without a word, Mr. Scott leads James to the gardens that are located in the back of the house. They are not as grand as ones at Thornfield, but beautiful nonetheless. Mr. Scott gives him one last hug before retreating inside to give he and the doctor some privacy.

Leonard stands with his back towards James, gazing at a fountain made of stone with his dog, Pilot, at his side. The beast senses that they have a visitor and turns its head, then barks to announce them.

“Pilot,” James hears Leonard say. “Who’s there?” James halts at the bottom of the steps and waits for Leonard to turn around. He still looks as handsome as James remembers him, though less fearsome. “James Kirk, an apparition come to haunt me.”

“Leonard,” James says as he walks towards him. “I’ve come back to you.” He sees the disbelief in his lover’s eyes as he approaches. “Leonard Horatio McCoy with nothing to say.”

Leonard blinks and reaches out to touch James’ hand. “You are human,” he muses as his hand moves to cup the young man’s face. “I dream,” he whispers as he closes his eyes.

James leans in to kiss his lips with the gentleness he learned from the man before him, who he loves so desperately.

Leonard embraces him and pulls him closer, breaking the kiss to bury his head in the curve of James’ shoulder.

“Awaken then,” he whispers.


End file.
